As we reach his apartment door, I take a moment to absorb my surroundings. The door stands before us, a deep mahogany, polished to a shine that reflects the soft glow of the hallway lights. It feels heavy and solid, exuding an air of security, as if it could keep out the chaos of the world. Beneath my feet, the floor is a sleek slate gray, cool and smooth, its surface polished to perfection. I can see faint footprints from past occupants, each telling a story of their own.
"Baby, put me down," I say, tapping his shoulder cutely. He pauses for a moment to look at me, and then, with surprising gentleness, he lowers me to my feet.
His hands slide down my arms, lingering just a moment longer than necessary before letting go. As I regain my balance, I can't help but stare unabashedly at his long fingers as he reaches for the keypad beside the door. The way he punches in the passcode is mesmerizing—each tap is precise, the slight flex of his fingers hinting at both strength and dexterity.
There's something intimate about the moment, the casualness of it, as if I'm witnessing a private ritual. I feel my heart race as I lean slightly closer, captivated by the simple grace with which he moves. In this instant, the weight of our circumstances seems to dissolve, replaced by a lingering tension that hums in the air between us.
As we walk in—well, he walks and I hobble—the pain from the bruise has magnified through the night, each step sending a jolt of discomfort through my knee. I take a breath, trying to mask my wince.
"You're not going to hide the passcode from me?" I tease, letting a sultry tone slip into my voice. "What if I let someone come in and take advantage of you while you're sleeping?" That someone would be me.
Wilde glances back at me, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, though his expression remains guarded. "You wouldn't do that," he replies, amusement flickering in his eyes, but there's also a seriousness beneath his words. It's a warning for me as well as a statement to reassure himself. He's right. I wouldn't do that unless I want to end up being blown to bits like the original Faye.
I lean against the door frame, watching him as he steps further inside, my gaze lingering on the way his shoulders relax just a fraction in the privacy of his home. "Maybe I would," I say playfully, still leaning into the banter. "Maybe I'd bring in an army of thieves just to rattle you." A one-man army, aka me. He doesn't have to know that bit.
He shakes his head, smirking softly, but there's a glint of wariness in his eyes. I arch an eyebrow, letting my playful demeanor shift into a look of more sincerity and care. "You should not trust people so much, baby. I don't want to lose you just when I finally have you." Ah—how I love speaking nonsense. But he seems to buy it. Or is also pretending like me. Either way, the end result remains the same.
The air grows heavy between us, the weight of my words sinking in. I can see his expression shift, the smile fading slightly as he processes what I've said. There's a vulnerability in his gaze, a flicker of uncertainty that makes my heart ache a little. I must be going senile to feel heartache for a mass murderer.
I take a step closer, setting the stage for my performance, feeling the tension wrap around us like a warm blanket. "Just remember, Wilde," I say softly, "I'm here for you. I want to help you, but you have to let me in."
He nods slowly, his eyes searching mine, as if trying to gauge the truth of my intentions. The playful banter has shifted into something deeper, something that feels like the fragile beginning of trust, I hope.
I move in closer to him, my heart pounding as I wrap my arms around his neck, feeling the warmth radiating from his body. His shoulder muscles flex beneath my fingertips, solid and defined, a testament to the strength he carries both physically and emotionally. The way he tenses slightly at my touch sends a thrill through me, a mixture of power and vulnerability.
As I lean in, my breath mingles with the air between us, the world outside fading away. His gaze drops to my lips, and for a heartbeat, it feels as though we're teetering on the edge of something electrifying.
"Wilde," I whisper, letting the warmth of my breath brush against his skin, "I'm here for you." The sincerity of my words hangs in the air, blending with the 'girl in unconditional love' facade I've constructed.
He holds my gaze, his eyes searching mine for a glimpse of truth, for reassurance that I'm not just playing a game. The moment stretches, fragile yet intoxicating, as if the very atmosphere is charged with possibility.
"Just let me in," I urge him softly, feeling like a siren—calling him to the edge, only to tip him off—tightening my grip around his neck. "Let me help you navigate this." I can feel his breath hitch slightly, the slightest tremor betraying the calm exterior he tries to maintain.
For a moment, we exist in this bubble, suspended in time, where nothing else matters but the two of us. The air thickens with unspoken words, and I can almost taste the hesitation on his lips.
But just as quickly, the moment shifts. Beautifully, if I say so myself.
His lips are on mine, and this time, the kiss is a tender brush, devoid of the earlier intensity that once felt overwhelming. It's a soft exploration, as if he's learning the contours of my mouth with newfound caution.
There's a gentleness in the way he kisses me, his lips barely pressing against mine, like a feather gliding over silk. I can feel the warmth radiating from him, wrapping around us like a protective cocoon. The kiss is delicate, as if we are both discovering something sacred in this moment.
His hands cradle my face, thumbs brushing over my cheekbones, grounding me in this intimacy.
I lean into him, the softness of his touch igniting a flutter in my chest. But just then, he separates me from himself—what an agony—and for a moment, I forget that I am here to complete a mission, glaring at him with accusatory eyes that are still a little moist from our kiss. Our kiss. Why did he push me away? Is he still suspicious of me? Well, who am I kidding? He probably is. But what if it's because he thinks I am a bad kisser? Or does he resent my looks? How dare he!
And then I remember; I am me. This mission has got me overthinking the dumbest things. I am now treading in dangerous territory. He's a mass murderer, Fanyin. Snap back to your senses.
I calmly set my face back to the naive girl facade, but it's too late. He's seen me already. His eyes soften for a second, and in a rare moment of tenderheartedness, he offers me an explanation. "You're hurt." His eyes linger on my knee, swirling with gloominess. The contrasting shift in emotions doesn't escape my notice. He's falling for me—knowingly or not. And unfortunately, I am not completely unaffected either. My best bet would be to keep reminding myself of his villain status and exit this world as soon as possible.